


Beware

by unknowntrombone



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Crimson Peak Inspired, F/M, First Time, Ghosts, Waltzing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7569160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowntrombone/pseuds/unknowntrombone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle has a secret that she has never shared with anyone: She can see ghosts. This gift also comes with a unique ability to write about the supernatural, and her talents attract the attention of Rumplestiltskin, a kind and brilliant man despite his fearsome reputation and gruesome appearance. Yet her lover has secrets of his own. </p><p>Rumbelle Christmas in July gift for applejackcat</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beware

**Author's Note:**

  * For [applejackcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/applejackcat/gifts).



> The prompt for this gift was: Crimson Peak AU  
> The general plotline has some similarities with that of Crimson Peak, which also makes it spoilery for that movie.

Belle sits on the oak chair in her father’s library, trying to be as quiet as she can. She lights a candle, dips her quill in ink, and begins to add words to her parchment.

She writes about death. It is a familiar subject for her. The Ogre Wars had left a trail of slaughter in their wake. Belle has seen far too many men, women, and children, succumb to battle wounds or illness in her 24 years of life. She has been haunted by too many ghosts late at night while most of the living world slept. She did not see what happened to her mother.

As far as Belle knows, there is very little on the subject of ghosts. No library she has visited has given her any useful information. She soon reasons that seeing ghosts is a rare trait indeed. It sets her apart from the rest. Therefore she does not tell anyone about it. The clerics are all too eager to beat anyone who does not conform into normality. That means that only she knows about how her mother still visits late into the night. Appearing in a transparent form and with a twisted visage, Lady Collette will stand in her doorway for hours on end and moan:

“Beware. Beware of Crimson Peak.”

Her voice is an echo of what it once was.

Belle has filled several pages now and her candle is growing short. She is happy to have another or else she would have to turn in for the night. On her fourth page, she feels a hand touch her shoulder. Expecting one of her nighttime visitors from the spiritual realm, Belle nearly jumps out of her seat when she realizes that what is behind her is both corporeal and human. It is her cousin Gaston.

“Hello Gaston,” Belle says while trying to hide her annoyance.

“What are you doing up so late at night Belle?” Gaston asks.

 _I could ask you the same thing,_ Belle thinks to herself. Instead, she replies: “I’m writing.”

“And what is it that you’re writing about?” Gaston asks again.

“Ghosts.”

Before Belle can protest, Gaston snatches the pages from her desk and looks them over. Belle feels her cheeks grow red with anger.

“How could anyone read this? There’s no romance,” Gaston exclaims.

“Well some people don’t like romance,” Belle interjects.

“Nobody will read a woman’s book unless there is romance,” Gaston retorts.

There is an awkward moment of silence before Gaston continues: “And the main character, she reminds me of...you,” he says in a mocking tone.

“That is a problem because?”

“It is frivolous for women to write about themselves,” Gaston replies.

Belle scoffs. “Says you,”

“Says everyone!”

Belle pulls the pages out of Gaston's large, meaty hands. “I think I’ve heard enough of what you have to say,” she says. Her voice is more confident than she feels.

Gaston ignores her request and continues to orate on the subject of women and writing, but Belle is barely paying attention. In the back of her mind however, she wonders if her cousin is right. After all, they both inhabit a world that has little to offer a woman besides bearing a man’s child.

Then both cousins hear a loud crack! The sound is like that of thunder and the room fills with smoke. When the smoke has cleared, they are not alone in the library. Close to the hallway, a short, thin man has now appeared in the room. Belle grabs her candle and holds it in front. In the light of the wick, she can now see that the man is dressed in leather and his skin is covered in scales. She looks to Gaston expecting him to not see the man at all, but to her shock, he has recoiled in fright. Belle is quick to realize that, for her cousin, this might be the strangest thing he has ever seen. As he notices that Belle is watching, Gaston steels his nerves and clenches his fists.

“Begone from our home foul beast!” He shouts.

The man responds with a high-pitched giggle. “How can I leave when I have been invited?” He asks.

“Liar!” Gaston exclaims.

“But I can understand your confusion. I was expected this afternoon but alas, I am running late.”

“Erm…to what purpose have you been invited?” Belle asks.

The man turns to her and blinks. His eyelids are to the side like those of a crocodile. Yet there is warmth in his gold-flecked eyes despite their alien nature.

“You must be Lady French,” he says as he draws closer to her, then he pulls her arm toward him and kisses the back of her hand. “A pleasure.”

His lips and hands are cold.

“Alas,” the man continues. “I cannot reveal the nature of my business here, that is between myself and your dear father. Speaking of which-” The man turns to Gaston. “Dearie, would you please be so kind as to let Sir French know that I have arrived?”

Gaston makes a face as if he has been deeply insulted. “Do you know who I am?” He blusters. Any trace of politeness on the man’s face vanishes in an instant.

“Do you know who I am?” He snarls. “I am Rumplestiltskin!”

Gaston turns white as a sheet. That was a name feared by even the highest born. Some say he was a wizard, the most powerful to have ever lived, capable of killing a man with a single word. Others say that he is a wicked, bloodthirsty monster who snatches children from their beds to eat. “Respect your elders and obey, or Rumplestiltskin will come and take you away,” was a rhyme Belle’s nursemaid used to tell her when she was being naughty. Yet despite his reputation, he is said to come to the aid of generals and kings should they ever need magical feats great and small. All the proceedings were done in secret and whatever magical favor he gave came with a price.

“Rumplestiltskin...” Gaston repeats.

“That is right. Now please deliver my message to Sir Maurice at once!” Rumplestiltskin commands.

“Y-yes,” Gaston replies. Then he backs out of the room, not taking his eyes off of the man in front of him.

As soon as Gaston is no longer visible, Rumplestiltskin loudly sighs with relief.

“I do not like that man,” he says.

Belle does not respond. Rumplestiltskin opens his mouth, closes it again, and then begins to pace throughout the room.

“Not a bad library. Not as impressive as my own but very few of them are,” he mutters as he paces. The way he fiddles his hands together makes him almost look nervous. Then, he pauses in front of Belle’s desk.

“A quill and an inkwell...” he says. His eyes flit toward Belle. “And some parchment! Are you a writer?”

“Erm...I...yes,” Belle replies while staring at her shoes.

Rumplestiltskin clasps his hands together and bounces on his toes as if he has heard the most wonderful news in his life. “May I read?”

Belle nods her head slowly, then extends her parchment to him.

The creature’s eyes scan each page, his snake-like pupils widening with every word. “This is... impressive!” He exclaims. “Very impressive!”

Belle’s face turns the same color as Rumplestiltskin’s waistcoat.

“Oh don’t be modest girl! That is not a compliment I give lightly. It is rare indeed that I find a mortal who is so gifted with words! You see, most people live very simple lives and, because they cannot write beyond that simplicity, their writing is...well...quaint. You though, you write as if you understand.”

“Understand what?” Belle asks.

Rumplestiltskin’s voice grows quieter as if he is telling a big secret. “Understand that this is not all there is. There are worlds and realms that exist beyond our space and time. Worlds of myth and legend, worlds without even the slightest trace of magic, and some...where the dead still walk amongst the living.”

Images flash through Belle’s mind like pages rustling in the wind. She thinks of all the adventures that she has read. Everywhere that she imagined she could be even while, in her limited reality, she had not once traveled beyond Avonlea. It was very likely, with Rumplestiltskin’s magic and immortality, that he had been to all those places he had mentioned and more. She imagined hiking through meadows and across streams, conversing with dragons and gryphons alike, being far, far away from the walls of her castle and her quiet little town and, in every one of those visions, Rumplestiltskin was by her side.

****

Every year, to commemorate the end of the Ogre Wars, Avonlea holds a ball and every year Belle tries her hardest to get out of going. She has ran away, faked sick, and even twisted her ankle once after jumping out of a tree. This year, she hopes that, in the excitement brought upon by Rumplestiltskin’s arrival, everyone will simply forget about her. Gaston hasn’t tried to drag her out of bed, which is a hopeful sign. Most likely, he is waltzing with every lady that he can and cares not a bit. As the rain drums against the parapets, Belle settles into her bed and begins to work through her substantial pile of books.

Ca-click. Ca-click.

At first Belle thinks it is just the rattling of the windowpanes. Yet, the noise continues even after the wind stops howling.

Ca-click. Ca-click.

She looks up from her book. Her door handle is turning. Up down. Up down.

Ca-click. Ca-click.

It stops.

Then Belle hears peeling and groaning as the door slowly draws open.

Belle does not turn away. From experience, she knows that averting her eyes from the supernatural will not make it depart. Instead, she draws out of bed and creeps toward the door, extending her hands outward. Her gait is unsteady and her knees tremble.

In the gloom of the hallway, Belle can make out a moving shape. She squints, trying to figure out what it is. A shadow, she thinks, one belonging to a body that has long-since passed from the realm of the living. Darker than the night sky. Her mother. The ghost raises her head and screams.

With a gasp, Belle slams the door shut. Her sweating palm clenches against the handle and her heart is racing. She gradually presses her ear against the door, trying to make out the slightest noise or movement on the other side.

“What do you want?” Belle whispers.

A spectral hand wraps around her throat. She tries to wrench herself free but her body does not obey her command.

“Beware of Crimson Peak,” Belle’s mother rasps. It seems to come from all around her.

“Beware. Beware of Crimson Peak.”

Then the hand releases her and, by the time Belle can draw in her breath, the ghost has vanished.

Belle stays where she is, shaking like a leaf and trying not to sob. She curses every childhood moment she wished to see her mother one last time, to hear her voice. She never thought it would lead to this, to being smothered by a twisted remnant of what was once maternal affection, to getting that nonsensical warning night after night.

In that moment, Belle wants nothing more than to be at the ball. If she were there, she could seek comfort in her father and her friends, few as they were. Perhaps she could even confide in Rumplestiltskin. As one who has seen so many things over so many lifetimes, she thinks she can find in him some understanding.

Belle yawns. Her encounter with the phantom has left her exhausted. It must be no later than half past nine, but Belle already contemplates turning in for the night.

It is right as she is about to change into her nightgown that there is a knock at Belle’s door. She jumps at the noise, but the voice behind the door is only that of Marie, one of her father’s servants.

“Lady French, there is a visitor at the door. He says he wishes to speak to you.”

“Tell him to come back tomorrow,” Belle replies.

“But Lady French, it is him,” Marie insists. The tremor in her voice makes it clear who she means by that.

Belle throws her nightclothes back into her dresser and races past Marie, to the end of the hallway, and down the stairs. It is only when she is at the foyer does she realize that she was fixing her hair on the way down.

Rumplestiltskin is standing right in the entryway. His hair and clothes are soaked with the rain. His golden eyes and the greenish tint to his scales make him resemble a wet toad.

“Rumplestiltskin! What are you doing here? You should be at the ball with the others,” Belle says.

“Shouldn’t you?” Rumplestiltskin asks.

Belle looks away. “I...was not feeling well.”

“It would appear so. You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Rumplestiltskin replies.

In her mind, Belle is spilling everything to him, her rare gift, her encounters with her mother, why she can write so eloquently about that which most people cannot see. Yet none of this is spoken out loud. She opens her mouth, closes it, and tells him nothing.

“So, what are you doing here?” Belle asks.

“I am lost,” Rumplestiltskin confesses. “I thought they would be holding this ball at your estate. I did not expect it to be at such a remote location. Could you show me where it is?”

Belle nods, then tells a servant to fetch their carriage.

****

It is only a short ride to Avonlea’s ballroom. Rumplestiltskin spends its duration fiddling with his hands and staring out the window.

By the time they arrive, the music has already started. Once they are outside of the carriage, Rumplestiltskin snaps his fingers, they are both surrounded by smoke, and, when the smoke has cleared, their hair and clothing are completely dry.

Rumplestiltskin then offers Belle his arm, she takes it, and they walk inside. It is only when they are at the entrance that Belle remembers her initial plan was to take the carriage right back home. As soon as they step into the ballroom, heads gradually turn to look at them. It soon becomes apparent that everyone thinks the creature by her side is her escort. The horror and disgust reflected on dozens of faces makes it clear as day that nobody approves of this.

Rumplestiltskin flashes them all a pleasant smile, but Belle feels the muscles of his arm tightening in her hand. She imagines what it must be like to be thought of as a monster. To be regarded with fear and distrust. To be considered unworthy of love and compassion. She knows then that she cannot leave him here alone like this. If they thought she was his date then his date she would be.

The crowd parts as Belle and Rumplestiltskin make their way to the center of the ballroom. The musicians continue to play as they had and everyone continues to dance as if nothing is going on, but they are being given plenty of space.

“I am not a good dancer,” Belle confesses. With his appearance and her clumsy nature, it is easy for Belle to imagine the two of them becoming the laughingstock of the night.

“The waltz is not a complicated dance, really,” Rumplestiltskin replies. Before Belle can protest, he makes a quick motion with his right hand and a lit candle appears in front of him. “It is said that the true test of the perfect waltz is for it to be so swift, so delicate, and so smooth that a candle flame will not be extinguished in the hand of the lead dancer.” Then, Rumplestiltskin puts his other hand on Belle’s waist. “That requires the perfect partner.”

Belle laughs before she can stop herself. “That is not me.”

“Nonsense,” Rumplestiltskin replies. They begin to glide across the ballroom floor. It is not the lurching, uncoordinated mess that Belle is used to in her attempts at dancing, but graceful and free.

“And you say this based on what? The several minutes that we have known one another?”

Rumplestiltskin giggles. “No my dear. This was something I concluded the moment I laid eyes on your writing.”

“Oh? And what, pray tell, does that have to do with anything?”

As they continue to twirl and sway, Belle notices that a few of the other dancers have stopped what they were doing and are now looking over at them.

“The way that you write is so beautiful and delicate, but firm-handed and with all the confidence of the world. That is what makes you the perfect writer and that is what makes you a perfect dancer.”

To Belle’s shock, she has not committed a single misstep since the moment they began to waltz. The flame continues to flicker in their hands. Meanwhile, more and more people are now watching them.

“Everyone is staring!” Belle whispers.

“Let them stare.”

Belle finds herself growing uncomfortable with all the attention that they are getting, but she tries as hard as she can to follow Rumplestiltskin’s advice. There is something about their closeness that quells her fear. She soon realizes that, despite everything that should be making her nervous, this is the most calm she has been in quite some time. There is a part of her that wishes she could always be so close to him. Is this what love feels like? Belle wonders.

Then, the last chord of the song is struck. The strings draw it out until it fades away completely. After that, there is silence. Normally such a marvelous performance would warrant applause but Belle’s dance partner was far from a normal person. Instead, what seems to come from the crowd is shock that something as ghastly in appearance as the man before them could be capable of such grace.

Then, Belle sees her aunt slowly clap. Everyone else turns to stare at her, then back at them, and, one by one, begins to applaud as well. Belle can see a ghost of a smile, a genuine this time, on Rumplestiltskin’s face, and, in that moment, she couldn’t be more proud of him.

Then, in the corner of her eye, Belle notices that two people are not clapping, her cousin Gaston and her father Sir Maurice.

****

Whatever affairs that Rumplestiltskin needs to conduct take longer than Belle anticipated, not that she minds. He continues to stay in their house, and, when he isn’t meeting with Sir Maurice and his advisors, he barely leaves Belle’s side. It is hard for them not to be pestered by members of Belle’s large extended family, who are clearly there to both harangue him and make sure that he isn’t up to no good.

Belle and Rumplestiltskin soon find themselves escaping to the many gardens that make up Avonlea manor so that they may find some solitude.

“Is that a butterfly?” Belle asks Rumplestiltskin as he cuts something from a leaf.

“No sweetheart, but it will be soon,” he replies. Then he opens his hands so she can see the cocoon he was holding. Belle looks down at her feet and, for the first time, notices the yellow swallowtails that are on the ground below them. She kneels down to get a better look.

“I hadn’t seen them,” she confesses.

“They’re dying,” Rumplestiltskin says as he kneels down beside her. “They take their heat from the sun and when it deserts them, they die.”

“That is sad,” Belle replies.

“No it’s not sad Belle, it’s nature,” Rumplestiltskin argues. Then, he picks up a butterfly. The swallowtail beats its wings but it is too weak to fly away. “It’s a savage world, of things dying and eating each other right beneath our feet.”

“Surely there’s more to it than that,” Belle retorts. She has seen too much death in her life for her to want to believe that is all there is to it.

“Beautiful things are fragile. Where I am from, we do not have swallowtails, only black moths. They lack beauty. They thrive on the dark and the cold.”

“And what do they feed on?” Belle asks.

Rumplestiltskin giggles. “They feed on butterflies!”

Then he lets go of his captive butterfly, which falls to the ground like a leaf. The two of them continue to watch it struggle to lift itself off the ground as a colony of ants slowly consumes it. It is a morbid sight, but Belle cannot tear her eyes away from it.  
“And what has led you to have such a bleak outlook on life?” Belle asks.

Rumplestiltskin seems to flinch away from her question. “That, my dear, is a story for another time.”

Belle sits closer to him and rests her palm on the back of his hand. In the autumn breeze, he seems colder to her than usual. “Is that why you are always so afraid?”

“Afraid?”

“Yes afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” His voice rises and grows sharper as if she has made a grave accusation.

“Afraid of yourself. I see the way you seem to respond to everyone who shows you fear. Every time, you ask yourself if they are right about you.”

Rumplestiltskin’s head drops in what might be an admission that Belle is right, and he does not respond.

“You know what? They are wrong!” Belle continues.

He raises her head and shoots her a look of bafflement. “Belle…”

“You, Rumplestiltskin, are not the man everyone says you are. You are kind and gentle. You said that you knew what sort of woman I was. That is the sort of man you are.”

“Belle...I…”

They are both close enough that they are almost touching. Before Belle can stop herself, she falls into his embrace and seals his lips with a kiss.

****

It is roughly a fortnight after Rumplestiltskin arrived that he announces he has to depart. The announcement is made in the middle of dinner with no warning. Belle narrows her eyes at him as soon as he says his last farewell, and is out the door before anyone can stop her. She wants nothing more than to escape into her bedroom and cry into her pillow for hours.

“Belle!” Rumplestiltskin calls after her.

Belle turns right as she is about to go up the stairs.

“You’re leaving us,” Belle states. She tries as hard as she can to keep her voice from shaking as she holds back tears.

“I must return home immediately to attend to my interests,” Rumplestiltskin explains. “There is nothing keeping me here-”

“I see,” Belle replies with contempt. Then she turns away from him and continues to climb the stairs.

“I read your new chapters,” Rumplestiltskin calls after her. “Want to hear my thoughts?”

“If we must,” Belle replies.

“It's absurdly sentimental. The aches that you describe with such earnestness. The pain, the loss. You clearly haven't lived at all. In fact, you only seem to know what other writers tell you. I advise you to return to your ghosts and fancies. You're nothing but a spoiled child!” Rumplestiltskin shouts. His voice is harsh and grating.

“But what about what you said earlier? At the ball? You said I was-”

Rumplestiltskin interrupts her with a giggle. “You are so naive! It was magic! I was making us dance like that with my magic! You could’ve been a slow clumsy cow, the worst dancer in the world and it still would’ve been perfect! It was a trick Belle! Just a-”

Before Rumplestiltskin can continue, Belle slaps him across the face. It is only after the deed is done that she realizes harming an immortal sorcerer was likely not the wisest of decisions. Yet Rumplestiltskin does not retaliate, instead he stares past her with a wounded expression, then disappears in a cloud of smoke. Belle turns and realizes that her father is standing behind her.

“Belle…” Sir Maurice says.

“Papa!”

Then Belle collapses into his arms and sobs.

****

Months pass. Each one fading into the next like an old painting. Belle’s father tries his hardest to make her forget about Rumplestiltskin. He brings her suitors from all over the Enchanted Forest. They are handsome men, but it is clear to Belle that she could never love any of them. Instead of cheer, their visits only bring her more resignation and acceptance that she will never be free.

Whenever Belle sits down to write, Rumplestiltskin’s words ring in her ears. She grits her teeth and determines not to listen to them. She is determined to be a fantastic writer with or without the opinions of men mortal and immortal alike.

By the end of the next summer, she has finished her novel, and has even coaxed a reluctant Gaston into reading it. She is going back through her reams of parchment editing when she hears a familiar crack!

Anger wells up inside her. There is nobody she would want to see less than that loathsome, vile, imp-like man. With his poofy spells and his ridiculous waistcoats. His claw-like hands, his cold scaly lips. His ugly, childish, voice.

“Go away!” Belle exclaims. “I do not wish to speak to you ever again.”

“I know I have wronged you Belle and I am deeply, truly sorry,” Rumplestiltskin replies.

Belle scoffs. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

“Can you please just let me explain?”

“Oh I would very much like to hear it.”

“Your father told me on the eve of my departure that I must do two things. The first was to never set foot in this castle again and the second was to break your heart so thoroughly that you would not want to come after me.”

“So you were cruel to me because…”

“Because your father knew it would upset you. Because he thought it would be for the best for you to hate me.”

“Oh?”

“But I found that, no matter how hard I tried, I could not tear myself away from you Belle! I thought I could but I know now that I was only deluding myself. You are everything to me! You make me stronger. So I come here to ask you for something, no matter what your father might say or do. Belle, will you--”

There is a knock at the door. Rumplestiltskin, knowing the consequences if Belle were to be caught with a man alone in her room, disappears as quickly as he arrived. By the time Belle opens the door, she is alone.

Marie answers with bloodshot eyes and a tear-soaked face. “Belle, I am afraid that your father has passed away.” She says.

****  
The Dark Castle looms ever-closer. It sticks out of the barren landscape like a claw grasping at the sky. Belle and Rumplestiltskin had been wed, but it was not a joyous affair. Belle knew that she should be dizzy with happiness, but, instead, all she could do was stare out the window of the carriage as her life transformed before her eyes.

The carriage stops at the castle gates and Rumplestiltskin takes Belle’s hand as she steps out. The ground is covered in mud, which soaks into her shoes as they walk inside.

Once they are at the entrance, the castle door swings open with a groan, which is jarring compared to the previous silence. As Belle and Rumplestiltskin walk inside, magical lights flash on and every object hums and buzzes with life. There was even a roaring fire in the fireplace.

“This is wonderful,” she exclaims

“You haven’t seen the best part. Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Belle shuts her eyes. She then feels the rough, cold touch of Rumplestiltskin’s hand in her own and is led forward, then to the right, then to the left again. When Belle opens her eyes, she is in the biggest library she has ever laid eyes upon.

“This library, and every book in it, is now and forever yours,” Rumplestiltskin tells her.

Belle wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him.

“I want this whole castle to be your home Belle. All of it.” Rumplestiltskin says. Then he lowers his head and kisses her on the neck.

“I would love that,” Belle replies.

“However,” Rumplestiltskin continues. “There are parts of this castle that are not safe. It is an old building that has been filled with centuries of magic. Magic that, alas, I cannot always subdue and control. Never go to the West Wing. It is...unsafe.”

“I will not.”

“Promise?”

“Yes Rumplestiltskin I promise.”

****  
Rumplestiltskin does not need servants to cook them dinner. Instead, he enchants all the kitchenware to cook everything by itself. It is some of the best food Belle had ever tasted and none of it is made with human hands. As they eat, her husband impresses her with tales of all the realms that the dishes came from. Belle cannot help but imagine that she has gone to every one of them.

After they finish with their meal, Rumplestiltskin makes a quick motion with his hands and all the dirty dishes vanish. Belle ponders for a brief moment what it must be like to live where magic could replace every member of the household staff. To her, it seems peaceful, but lonely.

“So what do you want to do now my dear?” Rumplestiltskin asks.

“I wouldn’t mind going back to the library,” Belle admits, blushing a little.

“I thought you would say that,” her husband replies with a grin.

They spend the rest of the evening immersed in a large pile of books, their bodies intertwined. For the first time since her father’s death, Belle feels truly at peace.

“I must get to bed,” Belle says after some time has passed.

“I forget sometimes that you mortals need to sleep,” Rumplestiltskin muses. “Are you tired?”

“A little,” Belle replies. “But I also-well-this is our first night as a couple and...don’t couples...usually…”

Rumplestiltskin looks away. “I...didn’t think you would want to. Your father-”

“I don’t want to think about him right now,” Belle interrupts. “What happened to him cannot rule my life forever. I just want to think about us.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Belle replies with confidence.

“Very well.”

Rumplestiltskin snaps his fingers and the two of them are surrounded by smoke. Belle feels a brief sensation of weightlessness, then feels herself sink into satin sheets. They are in a spacious bed. With more magic, Rumplestiltskin lights two candles. The intimacy of the setting fills Belle with more desire than she feels like she can contain. She is on her husband at once, capturing his lips in hers and running her hands down through his shirt. Like the rest of him, the skin of his belly is cold and rough to the touch.

With nimble fingers, Rumplestiltskin undoes the lace on her dress, careful not to tear anything. For Belle, it is an odd feeling, being undressed. Still, she is educated enough to know that it is a requirement for what they were about to do as a couple. He pulls the fabric of the dress down, exposing her petticoat. Even in her undergarments, this was the most naked Belle had been in the presence of another since she was a small child. In turn, she begins to lift Rumplestiltskin’s shirt from the bottom.

“This would be easier if you lifted your arms,” she whispers.

“I...are you sure you want to do this?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I just...it would be alright if you didn’t want to see. I understand.”

“I want to see you,” Belle insists.

“Even though I am wretched to look at?”

It is only then that Belle remembers that most people are repulsed by her husband’s appearance. “You are beautiful,” she replies. “Now lift your arms so I can get this shirt off.”

Rumplestiltskin looks unconvinced, but he complies anyway. She wastes no time in slipping his trousers off too. Then, she takes his length in her hand and begins to stroke him. He closes his eyes and moans into her neck, then covers it in kisses as he takes off the rest of her clothing. Belle rolls him on top of her, letting as much of her skin touch his as she can.

“Touch me,” she whispers. He moves his rough hands against her breasts, taking a nipple in each palm.

“You are so soft,” he whispers. “So warm.”

Belle reasons that she must seem that way to him, just as he was rough and cold to her.

Then, he takes one of her nipples in his mouth and she gasps at the sensation, something she hadn’t felt before.

“This feels so good,” she whispers.

Rumplestiltskin laughs into her chest, then he slowly draws a finger across her clit. It feels like a cool breeze is brushing against her sex. In that moment, she wants nothing more than to have him inside her. She takes his cock in hand and tries to angle it in-

“Not yet. Have patience,” he tells her. Then, he takes two fingers and strokes her, applying more pressure this time, sucks her lower lip, and begins to touch her breast with his other hand. All the sensations feel incredible, like her entire body is tingling, but still she wants more. There is something she has always been curious about feeling, she asks:

“Could you...use your tongue?”

“I would love to,” Rumplestiltskin replies. His voice is eager and mischievous. Then he pulls her legs further apart and nestles his face in between them. He kisses and licks, and laps against her clit, eliciting noises from her that she didn’t know she could make. Feelings that she did not know she could experience. Was this what it felt like? To be so desired and cherished? She grabs fistfuls of his shaggy hair and runs her hands across his scalp as he continues to pleasure her. Then, her entire body spasms and she feels a jolt of ecstasy unlike any orgasm she had ever given herself prior. That is when Rumplestiltskin comes out from under her, pulls her legs over his shoulders, and pushes himself into her. He goes in slowly, knowing that this is her first time. But her entrance is slick and he doesn’t cause her pain.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers as he pushes himself into her again. She can only reply with another moan.

“Are you comfortable?” He adds.

Belle nods. He goes faster, filling her completely each time. She watches him on top of her getting more and more undone with every thrust. In that moment, he somehow looked so wild and yet so sweet and vulnerable at the same time.

He whispers her name as he finishes inside her.

****

Despite the coldness of the winter air and her husband’s body, Belle is still sweating from their intercourse.

“Do you have a bath?” She asks.

“A wonderful idea,” Rumplestiltskin replies. “My master bathroom is just through that door.”

Ignoring the soreness of her muscles, Belle manages to pull herself out of bed and, holding hands, they both go into the bathroom.

“I must warn you that the water runs red at first,” Rumplestiltskin points out.

“Why is that?”

“The ore from the red clay underneath this castle. It leaches into the water here. This stains it red. It also stains the snow outside in the winter. This place is now called the Dark Castle, but before that, it was known as Crimson Peak.”

Rumplestiltskin’s last two words echo in Belle’s ears. “No…” she says quietly.

“You look distressed,” Rumplestiltskin observes.

“It’s just...I can’t stay here,” Belle blurts out.

“You cannot stay here? Why is that?”

“There is something that I have been meaning to tell you. I can see spirits of those that have died. One of them is my mother. She has appeared in my bed night after night since I was very small. Each time, she delivered a warning. ‘Beware of Crimson Peak.’”

“So you are going to leave me because, a ghost told you to?”

“It isn’t like that!” Belle protests.

“I don’t think there is anything more to discuss!” Rumplesiltskin declares.

Then he vanishes in a cloud of smoke.

“Rumplestiltskin!” Belle calls. “Rumplestiltskin!”

There is no answer.

With a sigh, Belle fills the tub alone. The water runs red, like he said, but she is glad that it does not need to be heated like her tub at home. She submerges herself in it, hoping that her husband will return. Yet she hears nothing but the gurgling of the pipes. Soon her tiredness overtakes her, and she drifts off to sleep…

The first thing she sees is her own blood. It surrounds her, envelopes her entire body. There is more and more and more of it gushing from every direction. It swallows her neck, then her chin, then above her nostrils. Belle tries to trend water and stay afloat but something keeps pulling her down, down, down, down. She tastes the iron on her lips as the blood fills her lungs….

Belle’s eyes dart open and she tries to catch her breath.

“Not blood. Not blood. Just water.” Belle whispers to herself. “Just water. Not blood.”

Crash!

The candle beside the sink goes out and she is surrounded by darkness.  
The water in Belle’s tub is still lukewarm, but she shivers nonetheless as she rises to relight the candle. It is right when she is halfway out of the tub that she sees a shadowy figure close to her. In the moonlight, she can barely make out its form, but she sees the long dark hair and plain dress. The figure steps closer and stares with an inhuman expression. Belle begins to back away.

Drip.  
Drip.  
Drip.

Belle feels her back against the wall.

Drip.  
Drip.  
Drip.

The woman steps forward. Closer, closer, closer.

Drip.  
Drip.  
Drip.

Then the moonlight hits her. She might have been beautiful once, but now she has the eyes and decaying flesh of a rotting corpse. Her nails are yellow. Her hair is matted. In a sight reminiscent of Belle’s dream, she is completely covered in blood. It drips down from a cut in her throat.

Belle screams as she rushes past the spirit, down the hall, and into her room. When she turns back, there is nothing chasing her. She grabs a nightgown from her dresser and throws it on.

“Rumplestiltskin!” Belle calls out as she heads down the hall. “Rumplestiltskin!”

It is right as she is heading down the stairs that Belle begins to hear soft, solemn, piano music. Perhaps it is the magic of the house, but it seems to be coming at her from all around. The music stops as Belle enters the sitting room. Then she sees Rumplestiltskin sitting on the piano bench and looking right at her.

“Belle,” he says.

“You can keep playing,” Belle says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. The music, what is it?”

“It’s a lullaby. My father used to sing it to me when I was young.”

“I cannot imagine you as a child,” Belle admits. “You playing music. Practicing magic.”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. “No. As a child, I was not magical. I was just a boy. My father…” he pauses and swallows back tears. “My father used to drink. He would lock me in the attic when he went to go gambling. Then he would come home late at night humming that tune.”

“That is horrible.”

Rumplestiltskin nods. “Once I was at my tenth year thereabouts, he decided I was old enough to take care of myself and just...left.”

Belle’s heart aches with sympathy. “I am sorry.”

“It is me who should apologize. What you said frightened me. I couldn’t bear to be alone again. I didn’t know how to respond to I got upset.”

“I love you Rumplestilskin. I would never, ever-”

Belle stops as her husband’s knees buckle from under him. She manages to catch him just in time before he falls to the ground.

****

In the weeks that follow, Belle barely leaves Rumplestiltskin’s side. When she does, it is only to grab more and more books from the library as she tries to desperately find a solution to his illness. Doctors visit, and the few who don’t flee at the very sight of him leave baffled.

“Belle…” he whispers after one such visit. “You must rest. You have been awake for days.”

“After I make you something to eat,” Belle promises.

“I am immortal.” Rumplestiltskin gives her a weak smile. “I do not need to eat.”

“If you are immortal,” Belle says with exasperation. “Then why are you dying?”

“You will find the answer. I know you will,” Rumplestiltskin replies. “But not without sleep.”

Belle thinks for a second, then nods.”I will get some books to read tomorrow and then I will go to sleep.” She rises from her seat and shuts the door to their room. She is lost in her own thoughts as she walks down the hall to the library. Waiting for her at the entrance is the same ghost she saw in their bathroom. The spectral woman’s face is expressionless as she marches toward Belle, who can only back further and further away. The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, causing her to slowly turn and nearly collide with another ghost. This one was that of a woman in a maid’s outfit, but she too appeared to be standing in a river of blood. With nowhere else to turn, Belle rushes in the one direction that she can and it is only when she has slammed the door behind her that she realizes she just walked into the West Wing.

You must never ever go there. It is dangerous. Belle remembers Rumplestiltskin’s warning. Yet all that is in there is a few empty flasks, a pile of books, and some parchment with notes scribbled on it. Belle goes for the parchment first. On it is a series of names and dates. At first, Belle thinks they correspond to when people were born and when they died but, after doing some subtraction in her head, she finds that the difference between some of the numbers is far greater than a human lifespan. The dates keep going further and further back until finally she is met with:

Nimue: ????-????

That is all that is written on the very last line and on the very last page.

Sitting next to the parchment is an open book. She marks the open page with her index finger and flips it to the side so she can read what is on the cover.

“The Nature and History of the Dark One Curse” Belle reads. Then she flips to the first page and reads:

_The Dark One is an ancient malaise. Nobody knows for sure of its origin. In many ways, the ailment can seem, at first, like a blessing. The afflicted becomes immortal and is granted magical power far beyond the capability of even the most well-trained practitioners. Yet there are other consequences. The first is to the appearance. The sufferer’s skin turns green and scaly, their teeth and nails turn black, and the whites of their eyes become a shade of yellow resembling a severe case of jaundice. The worst though, is what happens to their personality. Do not be fooled by any superficial displays of kindness. The Dark One is very dangerous. It kills without remorse anyone and anything that it considers to be a threat. Additionally, it can only be killed with a mystical dagger bearing the name of the afflicted._

 

Then Belle flips back to the open page. On it is a diagram of a human heart slowly transforming into something resembling a small lump of coal. Under the diagram is a description:

_The Final Stage: The Blackening of the Heart_

_At present, no Dark One has ever reached this stage, though a few have come very close. It is theorized that, once the Curse gets to this stage, the human host will suffer a slow, agonizing death._

_Once the heart is completely blackened, the host’s body will become just a vessel for the Curse itself. Then it will be free of any sense of morality left as a result of what was left of the host’s conscience. It will be a creature that cannot feel any fear, happiness, love, or any other human emotions._

Belle gags, trying to keep herself from vomiting.Of course, a fearsome sorcerer that is the source of many horror stories would have done terrible things! But he had been so kind, so gentle. How could she believe that he was slowly losing his humanity?

The door opens, and she sees her husband standing on the other side. The pallor on his face has disappeared and he looks to be in perfect health but the warmth in his eyes is completely gone. Instead, the expression on his face resembles a predator lying in wait.

“Why Belle, I see you did not follow my advice,” he says in a syrupy voice.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Belle replies without thinking.

“Oh, let me guess, another little ghostie told you to go down this hallway!”

“Well not really told but--”

“Ah hah! I knew you would go with that excuse! That’s always your excuse isn’t it. You just so happen to talk to ghosts who just so happen to tell you to not do what Rumplestiltskin wants! I see!”

He looks over Belle’s shoulder at the book she was reading. Before she can react he continues:

“And now you know the truth about what I am. That is...unfortunate. Rumplestiltskin was getting rather fond of you. Far more so than the others.”

Belle feels her feet rising slowly from the ground. She struggles but finds herself grabbing nothing but air. Rumplestiltskin giggles as he propels her out through the door to the balcony. Then he holds her dangling from the edge like a fish on a hook.

“You don’t have to do this! I know you are still there Rumplestiltskin! You can fight it! I know you! You are not the Dark One.”

“How delightful!” He exclaims with a giggle. “But I am!” Then, he twirls his hand, the ground rushes closer and closer to Belle’s feet and, with a thud!, everything goes black.

****

“Don’t try to move,” Belle hears. At first she thinke she is dead. That perhaps she has now become a ghost herself. Then, her vision slowly swims into focus and she sees Gaston come into view.

“I’m going to try to get you out of here,” Gaston continues. “It isn’t safe for you here.”

“You think?” Belle grits back.

“Put your arm around my shoulder,” Gaston replies, ignoring her. With some pain, Belle manages to lift her arm so she can balance on his weight.

‘It’s a good thing you’re so small. Makes you easy to--”

Gaston trails off when he comes face-to-face with Belle’s husband.

“Look who it is! A dashing-knight coming to rescue his damsel!” Rumplestiltskin mocks.  
“Let us go and you will be able to continue your foul ways without any interference. Kill us, and you start a war with Avonlea,” Gaston threatens.

“Avonlea will not start a war when they find that you two died in a tragic, but avoidable, hunting accident.”

“The entire kingdom knows what you did to Belle’s father. He found out what you were and threatened to tell your wife!” Gaston retorts. “So you bashed his head into a sink.”

Belle feels a chill run down her spine. “No! You’re-you’re a monster!” She yells.

“Funny,” Rumplestiltskin muses. “That’s the last thing Milah said too.”

Then, before either Gaton or Belle can react, he conjures a knife and buries it into Gaston’s side. Blood spurts out of Gaston’s body and Belle feels the life slowly draining from him. Like a frightened rabbit, Belle dodges another knife stab and tries to limp away.

“You cannot run from me!” Rumplestiltskin taunts. “And now, there is no one here to help you! Not your father! Not your cousin! You are all alone!”

“Please!” Belle exclaims as she backs through the castle grounds. “Please help me find the dagger!” She does not know if anyone will answer but maybe the ghosts who had helped her prior might return.

Yet all she finds is a rusting garden shovel.

“Looking for this?” Rumplestiltskin mocks. A twisted, embroidered blade appears in his hands. She can just make out his name etched onto it. “Like I said, there is no one here to help you!”

“Yes there is!” Belle shouts back. “Turn around!”

Rumplestiltskin slowly turns. Facing him is the spirit of a mortal man. He is emaciated and wearing the rags of a very impoverished peasant. In his hand is a walking stick. He bears the same distinct face as the Dark One standing before him.

“How...how are you-” Rumplestiltskin starts to say to his doppelganger but, before he can finish the sentence, Belle has gathered enough strength to grab the shovel and swing it against the back of his skull. With a sickening crack! the creature that was once Rumplestiltskin hits the ground. She then pulls the dagger free from his grip and, without hesitating, plunges it into his back with a blood-curdling scream.

At first, it feels like ice-cold water is spreading up from her arm into her core. Then, Belle’s entire body convulses and shakes as her skin begins to peel from her body like a molting snake. In its place are rough, cold scales.

A cacophany of voices echo through her:

_“If only you had read more of that book!”_

_“Then would have known how the curse is spread!”_

_“When one body dies! Another must take its place!”_

_“Too bad you didn’t finish that book!”_

_“Probably the one book in your life you have never finished!”_

The last voice sounded like an ugly distortion of her late husband, devoid of any of the warmth he once had.

“Belle!” The voice that calls to her comes from somewhere other than her mind. “Please help me. I am bleeding.” Her cousin is crying out to her from the other side of the garden.

As Belle begins to approach him, he recoils from fright.

“You monster! You demon! You dare to use your magic to turn my beautiful Belle into this!”

“You damned fool!” Belle knows that she is speaking, but it is with a steely, inhuman confidence that she did not know she possessed. “My husband is dead! He did not turn me into anything. I did this myself. But, then again, you always believed I was useless and incapable of anything. You didn’t value my writing. You thought I was nothing but a brain-dead, vapid, little girl!”

“That...that isn’t true,” Gaston whimpers.

“Oh yeah? Then name one time, any one time, that you ever gave me any respect?”

Before he can respond, Belle plunges the dagger into his throat. He can only reply with a gurgle as blood flows from his jugular into his trachea.

“Thought so!” Belle exclaims.

And now, with the one thing in her life that was holding her back gone from the picture, Belle knows that there is nothing to stop her from fulfilling any desire. Any want at all.

With all her magic and power, she could finally get to see the world.


End file.
